


The Basics

by Eternallost



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Banter, Discovery, F/M, Headcanon, Piano, Understanding, inventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: Violet thinks her husband hates creativity until she discovers the hypocrite has an outlet of his own.





	The Basics

It had been six years since their sham of a marriage. And though he had inherited her fortune, the house remained in shambles. Sure, she’d invented a rain collecting system in the attic, a dust suctioning system, solar-powered lighting; but nothing she did seemed to brighten the gloom. Early on in the marriage, as Violet was scrubbing grout, she would blame the state of the house on his cruelty. She was certain he did it to condemn her to the impossible chore of making it look clean. Six years of scrubbing and sewing made little difference. But, where things seemed doomed to decay indoors, the garden had flourished. It was there that she spent most of her days, and at the library in town. She went because the Count neglected to keep many books; at least in the rooms she was allowed into. She had no idea what was in a locked room near the kitchen, as it had remained so for all the years she’d lived there. _More dust_ , she assumed. And she was all too happy not to clean it. Many people, which she had come to know through the library, worked all day to come home. She couldn’t empathize. All these years she’d kept herself busy to return at the last possible moment: dinner time.

Violet stood in the kitchen, igniting the dish washing mechanism she had constructed. He wouldn’t be bothering her this evening. He was too drunk, she had ensured that. Perhaps she could finish that new engineering book she’d gotten today, the one about trains. _Trains traveling to far off destinations_. Excitement hummed in her at the thought.

“Countess!” The door from the dining room swung open, “Where are the after-dinner drinks?”

“Oh,” Violet hummed, “As opposed to the before and during dinner drinks?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” He leaned the weight of his back against the counter near the sink, “it’s not cute.”

“I don’t aspire to be cute. Certainly not for you.”

“What a pity…” He took a beat to look her over, “you’re naturally afflicted.”

She turned away from the sink, turning off the water, “What?”

He stood up straight, “That’s what I was going to say, **what** … is that _thing_?”

“This?” She pointed innocently. “It’s a dishwasher.”

“No, no, no,” He tutted. “Violet, come now, you know I prefer you do it by hand. Here, let me show you.” He wrapped his arms around her, gliding his long fingers over the back of her hand. The gentle brush sent shivers up her spine.

“Why?” she jerked herself around so she was facing him. “Why does it matter? Is this some sort of punishment?”

“Violet, don’t be such a brat. You know I hate those- those-”

“ _Inventions?_ You mean the only part of life I actually _enjoy_? You want to take away everything creative, everything that has a semblance of light- don’t you? How can you be so heartless?”

His shiny eyes observed her as he took a step back. A smirk came to his face. “Heartless. Yes, my heart was taken from me long, **long** ago. And the price has not yet been paid, little _Countess_ ,” he spat the word. “Now, unless you want to see what true cruelty is, I suggest you bring us those drinks. Pronto,” he added with a sneer before slamming the door shut. Upon his exit, Violet stuck out her tongue as far as she could.

* * *

She didn’t want to go outside today. The clouds were as gray as her insides felt. Violet rolled over from the heavily curtained window, snuggling into the bed she had constructed for herself after she’d outgrown that doll-sized eyesore. It was either that or… well, she wouldn’t even consider _that_ option. Normally she’d be in town by now, settled into some book in that comfy chair near the library window. _Would they worry? Did the patrons miss her? ...Did her siblings?_ She had only seen them a handful of times. Monty apparently kept them very busy. Yet, in their weekly letters it seemed as if they had inherited all the fortunate events in the family. _That was okay. It was all right._ She could live with misfortune, so long as they were happy. Violet covered her head with her quilt, stifling the sorrow and loathing threatening to consume her. It was then that she heard a familiar tune. _Mozart_ , something her mother used to hum, played on the piano.

“A… piano?” Violet sat up, straining her ears to listen. “We don’t have a piano,” she breathed, “Is it a record?” Violet stumbled out of her bed like a child on Christmas morning, still in her nightgown. She swiftly padded down the steps, afraid that the music would vanish into thin air. She followed the sound to the door; the closed door that had been locked for the six years she’d lived there. The music was expertly played, building to a crescendo. It _had_ to be a record, didn’t it? If it was, that meant there was a record player- perhaps a room full of devices she could take apart! Unable to fight her curiosity, she pressed against the door with a force unnecessary as the lock was not latched. After a stumble, she looked up and her eyes grew wide.

There was a man on that piano bench, one with graying hair and a rather un-plucked brow. One that seemed to always have a five o’clock shadow despite however recent his last shave. There was a man that looked remarkably like Count Olaf. But, that could not _be_ Count Olaf. That transfixed expression as his fingers worked with a passion. That genuine smile on his face. His eyes closed in peace. This could not be. A man who studied music, produced such sound, couldn’t possibly be evil. And yet, Olaf positively was. The dissonance caused her jaw to drop. 

The song was not yet over as Olaf opened his eyes and saw someone in his periphery. His fingers hit all the wrong keys with a CLANG as he rapidly proceeded to shut the fallboard and sit pin-straight, facing her with his arms crossed, one leg over the other. A beat of silence passed between them as his foot moved in circles. “Shouldn’t you be in town?” He spoke up.

“You play the piano?” Violet replied.

“Shouldn’t you be buying groceries?” He stood up and leaned over her with his arms still crossed.

“You play the piano.” A smile came to her face as sudden absurd laughter threatened to leak from her lungs.

“Shouldn’t your nose be in a book somewhere, _orphan?_ ”

Somehow his intimidation had left through the bright bay window she’d never seen before. “You play the piano!” She laughed as she smiled the brightest smile he’d seen in all her years of service.

He blamed that very smile for throwing his eloquent response off track. “ _So?_ ”

“You’re very good.” Her smile remained, her eyes shining in the afternoon light. 

“Of course I am,” He gave a flourish of his hand. “I have to compose all the musicals I star in.” He gathered the papers he’d thrown around the bench. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I-”

“Wait,” Violet grabbed his sleeve. “I’ve… Never really learned the piano. I didn’t have a proper chance.” He looked over her sad face. The one that made him so happy in early years. The one that paled in comparison to when she was indignant. Or angry. Embarrassed. They all took a backseat to her open smile. One only for him. “Will you teach me?”

His expression changed, only for an instant, before he schooled it back. “Violet,” he grinned. “Are you so _eager_ for me to teach you that you break through closed doors in your nightgown? Why, I’m flattered. But it is, after all, to be expected.”

Violet looked over herself and returned his gaze with an indignant blush. That was one of his favorites as well. “Will you or won’t you?” She spat out.

“ _I’m lucky my husband is so generous._ Say it.”

“I’m lucky my husband is-” she stalled, “ _such_ a hypocrite _._ ”

“Ooh, so close yet so far.” He twirled the key around his long finger. “Dear Violet, if you don’t know the script you can always call for a line.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m. lucky. my. husband. is. so. generous.”

“There! Was that so hard?” He smiled and she found herself smiling back. “We’ll start with the basics…”


End file.
